Don't Rightly Know
by Out of Context
Summary: BV- She still doesn't know exactly why he has kidnapped her, but she is starting to see the lost man behind the facade.
1. Captured

Author's Note: Alright. I really don't want to continue Generic Brand right now. No urge, ya know? And, anyways, this idea sounded pretty good to me. I hope to get this one to finish and complete and I am mapping out the ideas completely. I really have to do that -plan- or else I don't ever get finished and I work myself into a complete corner. I forget that I married so and so and then I make 'em just dating later. It sucks. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and please review!  
  
Don't Rightly Know  
  
R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes  
  
The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her.  
  
Chapter One  
  
Gah. She was what? Twenty-five now?  
  
And yet, her feet still itched for adventure, for the quest of searching out all the unknown. She was practically settled down with Yamcha, a once daring young bandit but now a pompous city slicker, and she could almost see the ache in his eyes to settle down like the rest of their social circle, to start a family. Most of those other once-beautiful girls were now swollen with their third child, talking about diapers and wet-nurses, not about galas and decorators like they had used to.  
  
It was driving her stir crazy.  
  
That must have been why she had escaped the manor. It made the most sense.  
  
She had always been a rambunctious child, contrary to her mother's efforts in "lady etiquette". She climbed trees, terrorized the house cook, and created general chaos about the place.  
  
And look where it got her: on a long, dusty road in the middle of Kami- knows-where, lost and alone, with a twenty-some-odd gang of outlaws holding her captive, discussing something along the lines of her worth and her "uses". It did not sound pleasing to her in the least.  
  
"Yeah, I say we ought ta untie 'er and let 'er sing a purty song fer us a 'fore we do nothing else. Ya'll all heard 'er voice. It sounds down right purty and I'd like ta 'ear a song. I'm a sure she can dance right nicely too. What d'y'all say ta that?" The first one said. He was rather heavy set and rough looking, with a bit more than a 5 o'clock shadow shading his chin. He greasy hair was pulled up under a large brimmed hat, but she could tell it was dark colored and hadn't been combed in a long time.  
  
"I reckon that sounds mighty nice. Can ya sing good fer us, missy?" The youngest one said, blushing slightly as he directed his comment at her. His golden hair glinted in the sun as he leaned in closer to hear her answer. Blue eyes flashed slightly under his brim, but the young woman couldn't tell from what. It had an almost ominous tint to it.  
  
She nodded meekly, her throat too dry to give a real answer. It had been hours out in the hot sun since she had had her last drink, her water canteen emptied shortly after the start of her trip.  
  
Late August had not been the best choice of months to decide to start out on this little expedition of hers to "re-see" the world, before the now "gentleman" Yamcha could marry her and she would be forced into the correct role of a high class lady worthy of her position.  
  
The young man who had asked her to sing gestured at a third man and pointed to the canteen of whiskey held at his waist. In response, that man twisted on the cap and tossed it over to him. The blonde caught it gracefully and then undid the top, pouring some of the burning liquid down her throat to help clear it up for her upcoming performance.  
  
She gasped. Even that tad bit of liquid, not entirely designed to quench thirst, help to satiate it, if only for a while. She flashed a smile at the man tending to her and watched as a deeper blush formed across the bridge of his nose.  
  
She chose to ignore it, and instead asked him kindly, her sweet voice ringing across the quiet prairie, to please untie her bounds. He did so obligingly.  
  
"Now, miss," began the greasy haired outlaw, the one who seemed to be in charge of the outfit, "If yer song don't please us, we ain't gonna be very happy wit' ya, ya 'ear? I 'spect ya ta sing a right nice song, one that might remind of us home or somethin'. Well, get on wit' it!" He nodded towards the buggy they had stolen from her, expecting her to stand on the back as if it were a stage.  
  
Wincing slightly at the wounds on her wrists from the tightly bound ropes that had just recently been removed, she climbed up on the makeshift stage and began her routine, singing songs her mother had taught her as a child. They were those sweet, sad songs of romance gone wrong; of beautiful women and brave men; they were the things fairytales were made of, but they had always been a hit.  
  
She sang until the sun began its descent in the sky, lying down to sleep in a soft bed of crimson silk.  
  
Her throat ached and her voice was slightly hoarse, yet the men didn't seem to notice. They continued about setting up camp and, every once in a while, a man would stop and listen to her. She had long ago taken a seat from her standing position on the back of the buggy, and had slowly dwindled to a stop as the sun completed its decline from the world of men.  
  
It was her favorite part of the day and her favorite part of the west. The cowboys and Indians had excited her as a child as they moved from the bustling pioneer town of East Capital City to the untamed wilderness of West Capital City. Her father had helped shape the town, form it into something respectable, and they were by far the richest in the area. Every man in East wanted her hand, hoping to earn a tie to the wealth of gold and other precious metals hidden in the western lands.  
  
However, it was that former bandit that had caught her romantic heart, and so she was now forced to settle with him. She had, after all, accepted his proposal.  
  
"That'll do, miss," the young man said, acting like a gentleman as he raised his hand to help her off the cart, escorting her to the makeshift tent they had kindly set up as her quarters for the night. It seemed that maybe her "uses" may not be what she had interpreted them as. "This is yer room fer the night. I s'pose it ain't 'xactly what yer used ta, but it'll do. I hope ya sleep a'right. Good evenin', and thank ya fer the purty song. It touched me somethin' deep." And with that, he excused himself, leaving her inside, alone.  
  
Bulma lay her pretty little head between her knees, hands covering her face, and sobbed herself to sleep, wondering why she had chosen to leave the comfort and security of her home in the first place. 


	2. Talking

Author's Note: Erm... I know this really doesn't sound sincere and whatnot, but I wanted to thank my one and only (sniff sniff) reviewer so far, except, I really can't because at this moment, I don't know their name. I am lacking in my internet access... I still wanted to thank you, though, and let you know I really appreciated that you read it! And that I hope you get this little thank you also!!  
  
Update!! :: Since I started writing this, I have had two other reviewers, whose names I also do not have. I apologize to you both, also, but thank you very very very very very much!!  
  
Don't Rightly Know  
  
R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes  
  
The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
"Well, ya see, miss," he began, continuing on their lovely conversation about how he got to where he was today. Bulma was awfully curious, and he seemed to be the only one really willing to talk to her.  
  
He was the young blonde man, who ended up being almost twenty-seven, with the catching blue eyes.  
  
"When I was 'bout seven years old, my ol' man kicked the bucket some'in hard, and I was the oldest of three, not many I reckon, but a 'andful enough for my likin'.  
  
"So, ya see, I was left to help my poor ol' ma take care o' us all and it was mighty hard.  
  
"Then this group came through my town when I was 'bout thirteen. They invited me to saddle up with 'em and I took it. I feel down right awful about abandoning my poor ma like that, but this is the 'venture a young man like myself needs."  
  
Bulma's blue hair just swished across her bare shoulders in acknowledgement, her head nodding every so often, marking that she agreed or at least understood.  
  
"Now, what 'bout you, miss, you haven't said a word since I started an' I'm mighty curious as ta what a lovely young lady like yerself is doing here with a rough crowd like us, a'sides being captured and all, you understand."  
  
"Well, I know this sounds awfully silly, but I wanted to escape. It was so stifling, and I practically signed myself off to this man –"  
  
"You ain't in love with this man?" He interrupted, enraptured.  
  
Bulma chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, putting genuine thought into the question. She had been asking herself this same thing for a while now, and she wasn't sure. She knew she had loved him at one point, but feelings change, right? "Well, I don't rightly know."  
  
He just nodded and didn't press the issue of love any further. "So, now how'd a purty girl like yerself get 'signed off' to this man?"  
  
"Let's see... When I was younger, I loved to travel and I would go all over with my Pa. This was before we moved here, you understand. Anyhow, I got to see the world and I was really rambunctious.  
  
"Then we established a town out here that grew into a city, that's West Capitol. So then my Pa had to stay put mostly, 'cept for business, and I decided I wanted to travel still, so I did.  
  
"On one of my trips, I met this bandit –he tried to rob me- but, we fell in love and I took him back home with me. Since then, he's started his own businesses and he's awfully rich now and he just isn't the same man. And then I ran away... and here I am now, with you."  
  
The young gentleman just nodded, smiling to himself at the irony that twice on trips she'd encountered bandits. However, money was not the reason they had gotten her.  
  
Their boss had ordered for them to bring to him the young heir to the Capsule Corporation Empire of West Capitol City, and completely by accident, she had walked right to them, saving them any effort of trying to hijack the young woman from her highly guarded family's manor. The Boss would be very pleased. She was well worth their little effort.  
  
It was like taking candy from a baby. 


	3. Meeting the Enemy

Author's Note: Well... Let's see. I have a hard time updating regularly, as some of you might have noticed. I hope you enjoy this chapter none the less, and I hope you all review. It means so much to authors, and if you are an author yourself, you know it too. It makes them feel good and gives them an incentive to write. So please, if you read this, go ahead and leave a little note for me. I try to leave little notes for everyone whose stories I read also. I would appreciate to have the same done for me.  
  
Don't Rightly Know  
  
R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes  
  
The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
"So you got her?" He asked, his dark eyes glittering ominously, warning the messenger before him of his certain death if the reply was a negative.  
  
The poor messenger nodded nervously, wiping the sweat from off his neck with his bandana. His fear was palpable and it pleased the dark man before him, a smile spreading across his chiseled face, the white teeth prominent against the tan skin.  
  
"Good. You may go."  
  
The messenger scurried out, scrambling over himself to get out of there as quickly as possible. The maniacal laughter of the boss sounded loudly in the room, chasing the messenger from its threatening confines.  
  
The sharp crack of a pistol echoed the glee-filled laughter, stopping the messenger in his tracks and drowning him in his own blood, a crimson puddle slowly growing in size as the liquid poured from the gaping hole in his head. The shell bounced loudly against the stone floor.  
  
The boss was pleased.  
  
.............................................................................................  
  
"So, where are we headed?" Bulma asked, flashing a knee-weakening smile at the man before her as the sun began its descent. Its fiery fingers stained the sky blood red, mimicking the impending doom headed quickly toward the oblivious woman. A town, small and almost imperceptible, loomed on the horizon. The formerly talkative blonde man was silent now as he nodded quietly toward the town.  
  
Bulma bit her lip, taking the hint, and continued with him and the band of outlaws on to the small cluster of buildings before them.  
  
Dust surrounded their caravan, swirling high about their heads, still warm from the blistering heat that had occupied the air that afternoon. He watched in silence from his perch above the town, a town full of the worst kinds of people to grace the face of the earth: thieves, prostitutes, and murderers, each with their own business in the town, each with their own dark agenda to fulfill. His shadowed them all.  
  
His lip curled slightly, in what one might call a smile, as he saw his men return, quiet as always. Everyone entered the town quietly, but quickly got roiled up, either by the tempting women and drink, or by the even more tempting prospects of money offered by others. Either way, their silence never lasted long. It was as it should be: full of the twisted things of life, the things man really enjoyed. And he, he was the master behind it all, and now, he had his bait.  
  
"I'm really sorry ta be doin' this ta ya, miss, but it can't be helped. We're goin' ta have ta tie ya up good and tight now, bind and gag ya if ya don't mind. You been mighty pleasant this trip, and we 'preciate it somethin' dreadful, but what's gotta be done, 'sgotta be done." The head of the gang said to her in a gruff, yet oddly kind voice.  
  
Bulma just nodded, holding her hands out compliantly. What more could be expected? After all, she was their prisoner, was she not? And it made sense to have her tied up if they were entering a town. So she did as she was told, wincing only slightly when the man bound her a bit tightly around the wrists, the rope pressing harshly into her soft skin.  
  
They led her past many saloons and inns, past an old smithy and general store, and past other small shops that lined the dusty Main Street. She took everything in silently, eyes wide and mouth shut.  
  
It was like walking back in time, to the first settlements, not at all like the vast cities and pristine towns she had been used to frequenting. It had been so long since her father had seriously pioneered anything. The eyes watching her from the dark windows went unnoticed.  
  
He climbed down from the second story, adjusting his clean white shirt, and made his way to the front of the grandest building in the town. Its silhouette was the center of the town, its grandeur unmatched by any for thousands of miles. He waited patiently on the front stair as the group brought the young woman to him, walking her gently to the base of the bank.  
  
As she walked, he noticed a defiance about her, tempting his controlling nature, but he suppressed it, along with the urge to touch the rolling blue silk that covered her dusty shoulders, framing her pale face that had begun to freckle in the hot sun. Her blue eyes looked up at him, looking him over in a single glance, as if she had discovered all she needed to know.  
  
"The sun has done wonders for your skin, woman," he said harshly, without the same drawl and accent of the other people of the western world. His words were perfectly formed and clipped in their speech, as if he was wasting his time just saying those few words to her. "It's nice to see a woman, and not a ghost for once."  
  
Her eyes narrowed as a sickening smile came across his face. She glanced to her 'escort' beside her, the blonde man who had been so friendly on the trip, only to discover his eyes downcast, avoiding both her gaze, and that of the man before them. Panicking, she looked to the other men of the troop, only to find their heads cast down too.  
  
"We don't have all night. Come inside woman."  
  
This is where they were taking her? Her calm began to shatter as the tears welled up behind her eyes, the fear quickly setting in.  
  
"Inside." His voice echoed angrily. Her mind refused to function, and the tears began to roll down her cheeks, taking the fine coating of dust with them. She couldn't go with this man. In horror, she watched as he broached the space between them, coming down the stairs toward her with frightening speed. His hand raised and then descended. Her vision went black. 


	4. Prisoner

Author's Note: Still having a hard time updating regularly, and as with like all of my stories, I take forever to update, and never does it come within a certain boundary of time. I was going to try and remedy this, but I failed, obviously. Oh well. I hope this satisfies you for the time being!  
  
And thanks so much for all your reviews! They mean so much and I hope they keep coming.  
  
Don't Rightly Know  
  
R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes  
  
The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Bulma awoke, her vision still spinning slightly, objects literally swimming before her eyes, and a dull pain throbbing in the back of her head. She wondered briefly why it was exactly that it hurt, and then it came back to her.  
  
Yes, that was right. She was taken by a psychotic maniac who had dared to raise his hand against her. She cursed silently to herself, while rubbing the back of her head, searching for a lump or something. Although the flesh was still tender, and probably sporting a lovely little bruise, there was nothing else wrong. She was fine. Unless, of course, you count the maniac.  
  
She rose from the bed she had been laid in, noting subconsciously how soft the covers were, and that they had to have been made of some fine material, and stood beside the grand four-poster.  
  
Her toes bent into the lush carpet, squeezing it between the tiny digits, and then she began on her way across the room, towards the big wooden door that blocked her path to the outside world, or at least to the rest of the building.  
  
It was larger than it had seemed, she thought to herself when she reached it, and marveled at the intricately designed patterns adorning the solid surface. It almost looked like a scene from her children's bible that she had so cherished when she was little and her father had enough time to read with her at night, beside her little bed.  
  
Those times were lost to her now, though.  
  
She wrapped her slender fingers around the large brass knob and braced herself to push hard against the door, figuring that such a monstrosity would be difficult to open.  
  
She unceremoniously fell on her face, her hands just barely catching her, as the door was opened before her. Her face flushed crimson, hoping that whoever it was who'd opened the door, hadn't been the man who'd hit her the night before. Two shows of weakness wouldn't do her any good.  
  
There was no laugh though, only silence, and when Bulma turned her face ever so slightly to glance up at the person above her, she saw yet again the pristine white collared shirt, the olive skin, tanned from hours underneath the hot desert sun, and above all, the hauntingly dark eyes, filled with a black void.  
  
His gaze sent shivers down her spine, chilling her soul with the fear that smoldered behind it, yet, she couldn't seem to tear herself away from his chiseled features. It was like looking at the devil, so perfect, and yet you know you'll die soon.  
  
"Get up." His cold voice echoed in the hall, as if it were trying to reinforce his already undisputable power. She complied wordlessly, her eyes still locked with his in abject fear and awe. "Come."  
  
Bulma walked soundlessly behind him, afraid to say a word for fear he would turn around and hit her again, or worse –kill her. But she was dying to ask him what his name was, scolding herself silently for even caring.  
  
"You're new quarters are here," he said tonelessly, "across from mine. You will be under my watch at all times. Don't try anything stupid. You will regret it, if you live that long."  
  
She just nodded.  
  
"You will find a wardrobe in the room at your convenience. You will choose a dress and meet me for dinner. A maid will be waiting to escort you. No excuses."  
  
Her reply was the same.  
  
And then, the door slammed shut behind her, and Bulma was left to her own misery.  
  
.............................................................................................  
  
Vegeta made his way down the hall, thoroughly pleased with himself. She would be perfect for his deeds. Just perfect.  
  
So flawless in skin and mind and defiant in nature, but meek when shown power. It was perfect.  
  
He'd have the world in his hand in no time, especially with such a powerful tool to use at his slightest whim. 


	5. Dinner and a Date

Author's Note: Happy Belated Easter ya'll!  
  
Don't Rightly Know  
  
R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes  
  
The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her.  
  
Chapter Five  
  
An elegant gown adorned her body, the pale pink offsetting her slightly tanned skin and silken blue hair perfectly. Her musty gown she had used for traveling was being washed at the moment and the flowing taffeta felt good against her.  
  
She didn't smile as she sat down, just looked at the still silent man before her, sitting ever watchful. Self-consciously, she pulled at her skirt, rearranging it so it would fold just right as it fell to the ground. She bowed her head in grace, saying a silent prayer of thanks, and need.  
  
Dear Kami, thank you for the luck that I have that I have not yet displeased this man, and for the comfort with which I am being treated, but, please, save me as soon as you can and do not let me stay and suffer. In your name, amen.  
  
He was still silent, but now, as she looked up, a small grin had spread across his face, showing the white teeth that stood out so well against his dark skin. No, you wouldn't call it a grin. It was a smirk, and a snide one at that. He was obviously amused.  
  
"Eat woman," he ordered crisply, and she did, after giving him a quick little smirk of her own.  
  
His insolent smirk grew, and he didn't eat a bite.  
  
Shortly, he rose from his seat, and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her up. She barely had time to swallow the small piece of bread that she had been in the middle of buttering before she was whisked out of the room.  
  
Hurriedly, as if the building were about to burn, he led her down the hall, through numerous twists and turns, and as the sun set, the halls grew darker. There were no lamps here to light her way, and she almost tripped on the long hem of her skirt multiple times.  
  
They reached a dead end, and Bulma took a deep breath, trying to stop the rapid intake of air before it gave her a stitch in her side. He seemed completely unfazed by the vigorous pace he had set.  
  
"What are we—"she began, but was quickly silenced by a hand over her mouth, callous fingers pressing harshly into her skin.  
  
His hand stayed across her lips, keeping her hushed, while his other hand deftly groped the wall, looking for the small notch. Upon finding it, he lifted up the crack, and a flight of stairs opened before them. He moved his hand from her mouth and gripped her hand roughly, dragging her up the stairs behind him.  
  
When they reached the top, he stopped.  
  
A dark room greeted her eyes, the setting sun allowing only the minimal amount of light to filter into the room. It was almost romantic, if it weren't for the psychopath and the tight grip on her wrist, which was bruising her fragile skin.  
  
He led her over to the window, the only one in the room, and had her stand beside him, looking at the sprawling view before them. He still didn't say a word, and Bulma was beginning to get annoyed by his silence. He never explained anything!  
  
The day before, he had stood in this exact same spot, watching as the woman beside him entered into his town.  
  
"Do you see this?"  
  
She looked at him, wondering if he was expecting a certain answer, but, unable to figure out just what he was asking for, she said yes.  
  
"And what is it that you see?"  
  
Still unsure of what he was asking, she gave him the basics. "I see a town, and the land beyond it. I see people going about their daily lives...It's the same as any other town. Why do you ask? Why did you bring me up here?"  
  
"I thought."  
  
"You thought what?!" she bit back, unhappy with his answers and the constant questions he asked. Stupid bastard. He should at least explain something. What is it that she was supposed to say? She felt like a little girl in school who had just answered wrong to the question her teacher asked, and the answer should have been obvious.  
  
Obviously, it wasn't.  
  
"Do not speak unless spoken to."  
  
"I'm tired of this. I have been quiet all day and I have behaved to your liking, as far as I can tell, and I was trying to answer your question, even though it was not very clear and I don't think you are very much of a gentleman."  
  
His cool laughter echoed in the ever darkening room.  
  
"What's so funny? I said nothing funny."  
  
"I never claimed to be a gentleman."  
  
"You speak like one."  
  
"You don't speak like a lady, madam, but I assure you, your wealth and beauty claim otherwise."  
  
Her hand connected smoothly with his cheek, leaving its print across his skin. "Do not insult me, sir."  
  
Quickly, she regretted her last action. He had been somewhat pleasant, if thoroughly annoying before, but now, a cold look entered his dark obsidian gaze, growing colder by the second, and the smile left his lips, leaving nothing but an icy sneer.  
  
"You will regret that." He said, and snapping his fingers, two men appeared from nowhere, gripping her and escorting her back to her rooms. Vegeta stayed where he was, looking out at the town, and wondering how she could see no more than the surface in it.  
  
Bulma didn't see the danger and the crime. Nor did she see the opportunity and the power, both crying out to be taken.  
  
.............................................................................................  
  
"Bastard!" she screamed down the hall, as soon as she was a safe distance away. "You bastard!" She tried to kick the guards, but it was worthless. They had too tight a grip on her, set too quick a pace, and were too goddamn strong. Bulma was pissed.  
  
Yet, underneath it, a nudge of satisfaction filled her. She had slapped him, and now the score was even. One to one.  
  
Looking at the two men who were leading her, she decided to try tears, hoping that maybe they would feel sorry for her and let her go and not be so difficult. Fake crying was a skill she had had since she was little, being a spoiled brat and all, and so it wasn't hard to manipulate anytime she needed to get what she wanted and, most always, it worked.  
  
The salt drops welled up behind her eyes and spilled over her cheeks, the whimpering and sniffling following shortly after. She didn't do it full out, the loud, wailing kind, but just the soft self-pitying kind. It worked best. It didn't annoy people as much, and still made them feel bad.  
  
Sure enough, the two men stopped in their tracks, looked at each other and then at her, as if they were asking one another what they should do. Bulma had to suppress her grin of triumph.  
  
"We're mighty sorry Miss. It's just we best obey the boss or else it won't be pretty. If you come along and behave right well, we'll let you go."  
  
Her lips parted in a dazzling smile and she curtsied in thanks to the two gentlemen, notching their faces into a private list of people inside the building that she had won over. It would be good to be on the right side of the majority of people, especially if she were to find out why she was here and how to get out anytime soon.  
  
................................................................................................... 


	6. Drunken Journey

_Author's Note:  ….. I really have nothing to say. I wish more people would review. It's depressing to see the one (which I am very thankful for, mind you) review. I wish more people would read, and if you are reading and not reviewing, I wish you would review. It hurts my feelings when you don't. And plus, as every author out there knows, reviews provide inspiration! Tell me where you think I should go with this! Or whatever makes you happy. I mean, seriously. Tell me about your life, or something!!!!! PLEASE?!?!??!_

**Don't Rightly Know**

**_R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes_**

_The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her._

**Chapter Six**

A week had gone by since she was brought to this building, and since that fateful day, she had never been outside and had yet to see that man again.

Never the less, she smiled and went through her day mechanically, always pleasant to everyone who would ever meet her, constantly looking for her chance to escape, or at the very least, figure out her purpose here in this dark world filled with intrigue. If only that man weren't so stubborn, she would already know. Damn him.

Suddenly, everything took a turn, for the worse or the better, she had no clue, but something was happening, and anything was better than the stifling idleness she had been oppressed with before. 

"Come," the two guards demanded after she had opened the door for them in response to their two sharp raps upon the heavy wood. Curious, she pulled her skirts up and walked briskly behind the pair. 

Whatever it was, it was set in motion. And that was always good. 

…………………………………………………………………………………

"Bring her to me," he demanded sharply, not even gracing the nervous message boy with a glance, much less the glare his ominous tone suggested. The voice alone made the boy melt with fear, losing all sense of his confidence and himself. "Well? What are you waiting for? I said go you god damn ingrate! Now get!"

The boy skittered out of there, the anger chasing his heels as he went in search of the wench his master demanded.

He hated this job, but his mother had become very ill and someone needed to pay the bills that the hospital was charging him, and with his father dead, it left him with the job. 

The "Boss", "Master", or whatever other name his many employees had respectfully graced him with, was the only man in town, in the west, who could supply the boy not only with the best doctors, but treatment free of charge. 

It was his only option, and the price he had to pay he thought was well worth it. After all, what was his freedom compared to his mother's own life?

And so, he did as he was told, fetching the young woman and bringing her to her own fate, caring nothing so long as his mother would live to see another morning. 

"Here, Ma'am," he said as politely as he could, able to tell from a mere glance that her social status was well above his own, "Come right this way now. The master will see ya'."

"Oh. He will see me. Hah. You make it sound as if I was requesting to see him!"

He didn't reply, just led the way down the dark hall and up to the room she had been in only a week before, overlooking the town she was held captive in.

"Hello again, woman," came a sensual voice from a dark corner in the room. The afternoon sun glinted sharply off the glass in his hand, illuminating the wine within it. "You may go, boy. See to your mother."

She was alone with him, again, but this time, she decided to bide her time, be patient, and hopefully get some answers from him. He obviously didn't respond well to anger. He either laughed at her, or gave her that awful look.

"Come, woman." He demanded. It seemed that she would hear that phrase quite often today. As she neared his side, she decided to size him up, noticing the sharp change in his appearance. 

His normally crisp shirt was wrinkled, and looked almost as if he had been wearing it for the past two or three days without changing. Dark circles lined his obsidian eyes and tiny crows feet adorned the corners. The knees on his pants were stained, torn, and bloody.

And upon his breath, she smelled the strong scent of heavy liquor, days old, and constantly reapplied. 

He reached his hand out toward her, gesturing for her to come closer still, not happy with the distance between them.

Uncertainly, she complied. 

His strong arm wrapped around her waist when she neared close enough, a calloused hand flipping absentmindedly with the edge of her blouse. 

"Woman, look out that window again," he said, abnormally soft sounding, his speech slightly slurred, "and tell me, what is it that you see?" His dark eyes never left her face as he searched upon her puzzled brow for the answer he was seeking. 

And she stared out the window at the townspeople below, watching each of them, studying each of their movements and actions and mannerisms. They stood there like that for two hours, Vegeta refilling his wine glass every so often, and swirling it, watching the sun glint of the unholy red glow, mesmerized by the beauty reflected in it from the woman beside him.

"I see…" she began finally, "I see people, lost and alone. They have no one who loves them, and they seek endlessly for something to fill the void that the absence of love leaves in them, be it money or women or violence. I..." 

Vegeta stood, unsteadily yet strongly, at that moment, turning her body toward his and lifting her delicate chin up so she faced him. His eyes searched her bright blue ones, their dark emptiness drawing pity into her own. She could see the lost boy hidden inside this secret man, searching for the same thing those people in the town were searching for, and as they did, he couldn't find it and replaced it with sin.

Tears sprung to her eyes at this revelation and she pulled herself closer to him, burying her face in his strong chest. He blinked slowly, unsure of what to do with her exactly, but, in his drunken stupor, he held her tight to him, giving her comfort and taking some for himself.

"I see you," she mumbled amidst the tears soaking his crumpled shirt. 

Shortly after, she fell asleep in firm grasp, and with the alcohol still in effect, mellowing him out, he held her in his arms and took her to his own room, laying her gently among his sheets, then he curled up next to her and embraced sleep's gentle kiss.


	7. Stolen

_Author's Note:  I can count up to one million in Spanish! Anyone want to hear me?__ Uno dos tres cuatro cinco seis siete ocho nueve diez once doce trece…. Millón! Es__ muy__ triste,__ verdad? Anyhow! Enough with the Spanish ( I have my final coming up like in 4 days, and so I kind of have to know the stupid stuff, even though this is my third year. I bet I could write a whole chapter in Spanish._

**Don't Rightly Know**

**_R For Violence, Language, Nudity, Sexual Content, and Adult Themes_**

_The West has been settled and formed by a wealthy young family and now their only daughter has run off from the confines of her world, off to see the outside and escape the civilized town, into the true Wild West. Bands of outlaws and wild Indians won't be her only concern as a dangerous entrepreneur with an illegal alternate lifestyle sets his eyes on her._

**Chapter Seven**

The bright stars twinkled gaily in the night, casting their playful glow across the vast western prairies and the solemn blue grass, the light twittering between its thick blades and filtering softly to the crouching figures below, their red skin glowing among the straw.

Silently they gestured to each other, calling the men together and setting up for their attack. They would have the one known as Walking Blue Moon if it was the last thing they did. She would bring glory to their tribe.

Stealthily, they moved through the grass toward the back of the tall building in the middle of the sleeping town, and smoothly they ascended the wall, removing her from the dark man's grasp ever so gently, and escaping out into the night again as quickly as they had come.

…………………………………………………………………………………

"Where is she?" his voice echoed through the vast building and men trembled in their boots. "Where the fuck is she? God damn it! God damn it all to hell!" A loud crash sounded after his last statement, and cautiously, the men went out to look for her, hopefully being able to avoid their boss's anger and get the woman back all in one gesture.

Meanwhile, Vegeta paced back and forth, back and forth, wearing down the sturdy wooden floor of his bed room.

He took a deep sigh, running through his head as to the many ways this could hurt his final plans for her.

I need her. I can see how she manipulates the men, with her whorish gestures and suggestions and her looks. That with my intimidation… Perfect. I could get men to do almost anything for me with that combination. And she knows something of power, because of her dad. It won't go to her head. I don't have to worry about controlling her like that. And with her at my side, as my puppet, my hostage, her family won't dare raising a finger against me.

But without her…

He hated thinking of possibly needing someone to get something done.

No, he reminded himself, I could get it done anyway. She just makes it easier. Yes. That's it. She makes it easier.

And it didn't hurt that, through his cold heart, he was falling for her, and falling for her bad. Denial didn't stop the inevitable.

He ran his hand through his thick hair in agitation. The crumpled shirt from the night before still adorned his muscular chest and the strong scent of alcohol still stained his breath. He sat at his desk, hand resting upon the side of his cheek, supporting himself, he thought of what he could possibly do to get her back.

Then suddenly, it hit him.

If you want something done right, do it yourself.

He quickly walked to the washroom, and upon cleaning himself up, he changed and called for the servant boy who had been attending him the night before.

"Fetch me my horse. And be quick about it."

In no time, his horse was saddled, the black stallion antsy for the ride ahead. Vegeta climbed upon his back, and slamming the spurs deep into the horse's girth, he took off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

It would have almost been romantic, the gallant cowboy off to save the fair maiden, if it weren't for his dark motives, only wanting her for her convenience to him, not because of his love for her.


End file.
